Here We Go Again
by SilverFoxxStudio
Summary: The young and cynical Willow must endure a country that is foreign to her, a new wizarding school with quirky teachers, AND the Weasley twins! Toss a little love into the mix and you've got a bizarre potion even Snape couldn't have concocted!
1. Up, Up, and away

As you can probably tell, I am new here and this is my first story. ; WOO! Please, be gentle! Regrettably, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters other than Willow. So don't sue me.

-------------------------------------------

The day dawned miserable and grey as Willow McKenzie boarded the last plane that was to make the excruciatingly long trek to London, England. The young and exceedingly cynical 17 year old American witch was anything but pleased with her present location. With a drawn out sigh, she looked to her left where a freakish 20 year old muggle with florescent hair stared straight ahead, transfixed on something that her ominous mind had manifested before her sight alone. The dark make-up that encircled her eyes coupled with the ghostly white flesh the clung to her youthful face made her appear as a corpse. Without a flinch, the youth turned her eyes to Willow, irises hidden behind onyx contacts. Scary.

She met the eerie gaze and refused to back down, her own lupine eyes glaring maliciously. She had half a mind to snarl at the witch...no, that was not a very accurate title. Switch the first letter and you will inevitably find a more suitable word. With a roll of her eyes, Willow averted her gaze and followed the row of generic chairs to the front of the plane where meticulous stewardesses stood in their pristine uniforms, smiling like dolls with makeup to match. The petite blonde's voice was a sugary sweet tone as she went over the in-flight procedures.

Rubbish. Your chances of surviving a crash are slim so you might as well just blare your music and enjoy the last hellish rollercoaster you'll ever experience. Go down in flames, as the muggles called it. Terrible phrase for a witch to use and highly inaccurate at that. Witches have spells that stop that from happening, but not for the hard impact that inevitably follows. So a crash would be most undesired.

The dishwater blonde examined the sentiment with care, mulling over the pros and cons on a magical interference that would send the plane and herself plummeting to a most certain death. At least she wouldn't have to attend the dreadfully foreign wizarding school that the magical population of jolly ol' England boasted of. Hogstooth? Hogsbeard? What was it called again? Oh, what does it matter? If I have to sit through even one snotty Brit-Brat's bragging about his or her pureblood family, I'd kill myself and take that particular individual down with me. As you will come to find out, an upstanding wizarding bloodline to an American is a family which consists of a father and or mother that has not been thrown behind bars, albeit magical bars (muggle jails are as flimsy as their cops), for the past 3 years. There you have it, pureblood. There was, in fact, only a trace of water in Willow's veins. Her mother had been arrested for Misconduct in a Muggle Agency. Does charming all the plants in the local courthouse so that they attack the most esteemed Judge Ballister count as "misconduct"? Willow was still debating that.

Her mother. Merlin, she would miss that woman. Jo McKenzie, a shortening of her full Joanne, was a most capable witch in her own right. The 41 year old with slightly blonder hair than her daughter had a temper to match the reddest of redheads and her sharp emerald eyes did little to belie her spirited nature. She was more of a sister than a mother. A kind mentor as well as a knowledgeable peer. With no American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Willow had learned all she knew from her mother. Sure, there were several learning institutes that cleverly called themselves private "Religious" schools, but the McKenzie's had had little funds for such an endeavor.

Was it true that they made you wear uniforms? Willow had never so much as looked at a uniform (apart from those that belonged to an authoritative figure) and didn't fancy the idea of donning one of her own. Stiff and formal was the way of the English. 'I give it a week.' she sneered mentally, referring to her sanity. The teachers had beating sticks too, she supposed. Such joy.

The large chunk of scrap metal chugged to the end of the runway with the power and grace of a nearly dead plow horse and to tell you the truth, she highly doubted that the muggle invention would lift at all. It jerked sporadically before leaping into air with one last back-wrenching spasm.

She was up, up and away in a manner of seconds; soaring through the air with only the large chunk of iron between her and the wind that she so loved to feel upon her face. Damn muggles; leave it to them to suck the fun out of everything! It was these words that lead Willow to ask, was there a straw for such an occasion?

---------------------------------------

I know that it is kinda descriptive right now, but the next chapter will be better, I swear...and longer.


	2. The Burrow

If it is at all possible, the ominous weather that had so lovingly graced her hometown of Denver, Colorado had made haste across the ocean to adorn the English sky. The faint glow of lightning could be seen through the endless streams of rain that pelted the large airport window; the drops racing frantically down the pane and disappearing beyond the cold steel ledge. The 10 hour flight had left her stiff and extremely moody and she summoned all her will to not maul the next individual that asked if she was lost. Of course she was lost! She was halfway around the world for Merlin's sake!

She listened closely to the talking about her, the random conversations drowned in accents thick as molasses. Nothing about Hogs-whatever-the-hell-it-was. Turning from the window, she allowed her eyes to scan her surroundings. Hats and toupees of every sort met her gaze. Brown, blonde, brown, brown, black, brown, dusty, black, black, flaming red.

Hold up. Irish? Pushing from the crowd that had gathered about the terminal gate, she followed the flash of flames. Once fully separated from the group, she could see the figure clearly. Now, Willow did have a healthy obsession with redheads; or perhaps the rowdy amusement that followed in their wake, so this was no new occurrence. She was surprised to see one in stuffy old England, though. With nothing better to do and following a complete stranger being one of her most cherished pastimes, she strode after him. His garb was like nothing she'd ever seen before. It was odd, to say the least. Like a sort of trench coat, robe hybrid. Whatever it was, man did that thing billow.

The phrase Birds of a Feather made complete sense to Willow now for the first time. There was, in fact, a FLOCK of redheads just up ahead, and her present specimen hurried to their ranks. Complete chaos. Five redheads? That couldn't have been a coincidence. They were a family, she could tell that now as the twiggy one whom she had been pursuing caught the others.

"I looked at the door and couldn't find her. Dumbledore said that she was noticeable, what could have happened?" he asked nervously as the mother placed her clenched fists upon her hips and scolded him.

"Ronald Weasley, you will go back there and search again." she said, lifting her finger and pointing in the gate's direction.

"But-but, what if it was the wrong door?" he asked sheepishly, yet did not continue when his mother gave him a look. The woman was downright scary like that from the top of her plaited red hair to her slightly odd green and red dress. Christmas colors, Willow mused.

"We'll go to!" piped up two rather similar boys, their eerily cheery voices made Willow cringe.

"Oh yes!" they continued simultaneously "We'll look after our dear little brother!"

"I don't think that will be necessary." added a taller, aged man with the same vibrant hair, what remained of it at least. With a smile he strode casually to Willow, hand outstretched and generally welcoming.

"Willow McKenzie?" he asked and received a mute nod. You have to admit, that was rather weird.

"Oh! Very good!" the woman stated proudly. Proud? The group gathered about the light brunette, a flood to her keen eyesight. The vibrancy of their hair would very shortly give her a headache; a regrettable "family" trait.

"Introductions!" the woman beamed. "This is Ronald, my youngest son, and these are..."

"Gred and Forge! At your service." They said with mock bows, eyes gleaming mischievously. The woman rolled her eyes and continued.

"I am Molly and this is my husband, Arthur."

The polite thing to have done would have been to introduce oneself, but Willow's mind was in overdrive and she could barely remember her own name in the onslaught of titles. The woman, Molly was it? Yes. Molly looked at her with a hint of expectancy.

"Uh, hi?" she muttered, a lame greeting as there ever was but she was too preoccupied with trying to register it all. Gred and Forge? Their names were inevitably Fred and George, but she'd play their games if they wanted it to be so. And Ron. Yes. Arthur and Molly. Got it.

"Sorry. It is nice to meet you." she smiled. Molly smiled back and clapped her hands once in excitement.

"Right! Very good!" she started again. "We must be off. To the car everyone. Come, Willow dear."

"Please, call me Will." she added.

"Very well, Willow dear." she said dismissively, trying to get Gred and Forge to cooperate long enough to vacate the building. The two were bouncing around...literally. They had a strange likeness to ferrets on Speed; a truly terrifying combination.

"Only one problem, mum-" stated one of the two discernable twins.

"There's only room for 5." the other finished.

"We could leave Ron here!" the first suggested and was promptly smacked by his mother; said boy wearing a horrible expression of fear at the prospect of being left behind in muggle territory.

"Enough, Fred!" she scolded.

"You mean Gred!" he started enthusiastically and the other caught on immediately, adding an "Or Forge!"

"Either way, we're still short a seat. Unless of course, our guest wishes to ride on the roof." They started again.

"Or someone's lap." Willow spoke before she could stop herself. Both boys were sufficiently quiet after that lapse in judgment.

"Right." Arthur chuckled. "You'll all have to squeeze in."

"What, all four of us?" Ron started.

"Oh, don't be so snobbish, Ronald." Molly reprimanded once more.

It was, in fact, a very tight fit once they all managed to get into the light blue vehicle and the old doors threatened to give way to the amount of person between them. What made it especially difficult was the twin's constant fidgeting.

"Well, I do say! It is a good thing that the whole family didn't come!" Gred asked. Willow had taken a liking to that particular name and since it had elements of both their true names, it really didn't matter to whom it was applied.

"How many more of there are you?" Willow inquired, removing Gred's elbow from her shoulder and doing to same to the twin that sat at her opposite.

"Seven." Molly interjected kindly.

Willow felt a strange mingling of pity and fear at that utterance. Seven? Her own aunt had a total of six children, but it wasn't seven. How on earth did they raise SEVEN kids!

"Yeah." Gred started. "There's Ginny."

"And Charlie."

"And Bill."

"Bill's the oldest. Then Charlie." they finished, alternating between their sibling's names.

"And Ginny?" Willow asked.

"Ginny's last; the youngest." Forge answered.

"Oh." she mouthed quietly.

"What about you?" Mr. Weasley asked, turning in his seat and taking his eyes off the sky before him.

"I'm an only child." she answered, fiddling with the large ring that hung about her neck by a golden chain.

"Tell me," he started after a slight pause, resuming the proper position behind the wheel. "What is it like living amongst American Muggles?"

The enthusiasm behind his voice made Willow chuckle as she answered.

"They're ordinary folk, just going on about their lives."

"Cattle Wranglers? Bringing in the dogs, are they?"

"Dogs?" she asked before it finally clicked in her mind.

"Doggies? Cattle?"

She honestly couldn't help herself. Throwing her head back, she laughed uproariously. Were these people really under the assumption that all Americans were cowboys? The twins looked at her expectantly and she burst into a renewed fit of laughter. The image of an American stockbroker racing along the range on a buckskin pony entered her mind and she honestly couldn't stop. Grabbing her sides, she attempted to calm herself and right the misconception, but it just wasn't happening. She started anyways, her words separated by silent racks of laughter.

"No...no, we don't...wrangle...doggies." she was thrust back in her seat as another onslaught of hysteria took her. She had no idea why it was so funny, but she was tired and passed that as her excuse; and not altogether an invalid on.

The car was filled with silence as they neared their destination. After her laughter had subsided, Willow had been racked by hiccups and yawns and Mrs. Weasley instructed her to sleep. With a nod, she leaned her head back and was out before she closed her eyes. The car had jostled at one point or another and her head had found its way to Gred's shoulder.

So it was that all the 17 year olds were out cold, leaning against each other in the confined space as the youngest Weasley present leaned against the cold window preparing to join them.

------------------------------------------------------

Woot! Another chapter done! Hope you like it!


End file.
